She stepped lightly ashore, and then came the slower work of landing her
imports. She bustled about, like a hen over her brood, and wasn't always
talking, but put in her word every now and then, never crossly, and
always to the point.

Staines listened to her, and examined her with a sort of puzzled look;
but she took no notice of him; her whole soul was in the cattle.

They got the things on board well enough; but the horses were frightened
at the gangway, and jibbed. Then a man was for driving them, and poked
one of them in the quarter; he snorted and reared directly.

"Man alive!" cried the young woman, "that is not the way. They are
docile enough, but frightened. Encourage 'em, and let 'em look at it.
Give 'em time. More haste less speed, with timorous cattle."

"That is a very pleasant voice," said poor Staines, rather more
dictatorially than became the present state of his intellect. He added
softly, "a true woman's voice;" then gloomily, "a voice of the past--the
dark, dark past."

At this speech intruding itself upon the short sentences of business,
there was a roar of laughter, and Phoebe Falcon turned sharply round to
look at the speaker. She stared at him; she cried "Oh!" and clasped her
hands, and colored all over. "Why, sure," said she, "I can't be mistook.
Those eyes--'tis you, doctor, isn't it?"

"Doctor?" said Staines, with a puzzled look. "Yes; I think they called
me doctor once. I'm an attendant in the hospital now."